Your Graduation
by fifteengreen
Summary: Modern/High school AU Jean and Marco haven't spoken in three years. Now they're about to enter their senior year and are at a back to school party that changes everything. Loosely based on "Your Graduation" by Modern Baseball


Every August, a senior throws a back-to-school party, not to actually celebrate that we're going back to school or anything, but because it's a reason to get drunk over the fact that we only have one year of high school left. The entire senior class comes, because hey, free booze.

The party is in full swing when we arrive. Connie and Sasha bounce out of my backseat and head straight to the kitchen where the alcohol is. I stay away from the kitchen because the role of designated driver is being filled by me because of how I tend to open my mouth when I am intoxicated. I really don't need everyone knowing that I'm still not over him and the stupid shit that happened freshman year.

Honestly, the main reason I didn't want to come to this party is because there's a huge chance that he's going to be here. I was lucky enough to only have a couple of classes with him after we fell apart almost three years ago. The classes I had with him were uncomfortable for both of us. Our sophomore English teacher had sat directly by each other for the entire first semester. Personally, I believe that we might have been okay by this point if it wasn't for his boyfriend that took my place about a month after we stopped talking. He's possessive and refuses to let Marco talk to me or any other male that he sees as being a "threat" to their relationship. But it's whatever. I kinda just gave up on the thought of us ever being even friends again about six months into their relationship.

The noise of the party is a little too much to handle sober, and that's why I am sitting at the top of the old, wooden staircase. And that's when I see him. It's the first time I've seen him in months, and he looks like shit. He's obviously trashed and is sitting almost completely doubled over on the bottom step, beer in hand. I briefly wonder where his boyfriend is and if he's going to cause any trouble, but I dismiss the thought as quickly as I thought it. Tonight is the night, I decide, that I am going to talk to Marco for the first time in three years.

Taking a deep breath, I stand up and begin to make my way down the staircase to where he is. This is a bad idea, I think, I should just leave it alone. But then again, it's not like he'll remember this in the morning, at least I hope he won't. I stand three steps behind him before finally taking the last three steps to him.

He doesn't notice as I sit down next to him, uneasy and nervous. I exhale and nudge him in the side. "Marco."

Obviously not expecting me to be the one sitting next to him, he jumps slightly. "Oh. Jean," He pauses and rubs the back of his neck, "Are you sure you should be talking to me? If Thomas finds out he'll be pissed."

I roll my eyes and turn to face him. "Is Thomas even here, Marco?"

"Well. No." He takes the last drink of the beer and looks at me in the eyes for the first time in what seems like forever, "But he might find out."

"Only if you tell him, Marco. Which would be a pretty stupid thing to do."

"You've got a point," He stands up and looks away, "Uh, you wanna go outside and talk or something?"

Jesus, he looks so sad and uncomfortable. Maybe he'll talk about it. Maybe he won't. It looks more like he's forcing himself to appear like he doesn't want to be around me.

The humid August air is a welcome change from the stuffy air inside that smells like sweaty teenagers and alcohol. We walk to the middle of the large front yard and stand there, unsure of what to do now. Marco sways slightly and it's then that I remember that he's drunk.

We stand in silence and it gives me a chance to think and remember every stupid thing that has led up to this moment; us standing on some guy's front yard at somewhere close to midnight, awkwardly shuffling our feet and brewing in the silence. We are silhouettes of what we used to be. We are the left-over dirt that the broom and dust pan couldn't pick up. We are a stain on your mother's coffee table from a drink that was set on it without a coaster; something that happened by accident and is now just a reminder of a mistake that you cannot get rid of.

I regret fucking things up. I really do. I spent all of high school without my best friend. This should not be the first time I am seeing him drunk; I should have been the person he drank with the first time. Technically, I was, but I don't think that 7th grade us stealing a drink of my mother's vodka counts. It wasn't supposed to be like this. We were supposed to last forever. But really, what two kids in love for the first time don't assume they are going to last forever?

Fourteen was a really bad year for me. I was in such horrible place mentally that I let most of my personal relationship die, or I killed them. Most of them I could deal with losing, but not Marco. I was never able to deal with killing our relationship. I carried the guilt around for so long. The guilt of effectively ending your friendship with the person who is most important to you because you were too unstable to give a fuck about anything really never goes away. I think about it every day. Sometimes it's for hours and some days he's just a passing thought.

Marco shuffles his feet and looks at me. I can instantly tell that his guard is back up and he is going to revert back to ignore me. He surprises me by not walking away but by beginning to complain. I _so_ didn't have him pegged as a bitchy drunk, but here we are. He's complaining about how he's been here for "fucking hours" and he hasn't seen any of friends, which kind of hurt because it made me remember we aren't friends, and how he feels like shit because he hates me and Thomas hates me.

I'm so tired of him acting like he hates me. Maybe he really does hate me, but I still know him too well and I am almost positive that he got over it about the same time everyone else, except Thomas, did.

I glare at him and exhale forcefully before grabbing his shoulder and forcing him to look at me. "Bullshit. You fucking miss me. Stop acting like you still fucking hate me when you and I both know we got over this shit two years ago." I pause and glare at him while looking directly into his eyes. He visibly shrinks and looks away. "Fuck you, fuck Thomas, and fuck your attitude. I'm giving up. There, I said it. I'll see you at graduation, Marco." I turn on my heel and begin to walk away. I seriously never thought that I'd see the day where I gave up on Marco and walk away from him and my hope for rebuilding our friendship.

It can't have been more than ten seconds later because I had just made it to the sidewalk when I feel a hand on my shoulder, turning me around.

"Jean, wait," He has noticeably sobered up and seems more sincere and vulnerable now. "I'm sorry. I just- I'm scared, okay?" He deflates and sits on the sidewalk. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"What are you- stop. Stop apologizing and explain what the fuck you're talking about."

"God, I don't even know where to begin." He sighs and explains, "I meant to fix it a long time ago. We weren't supposed to last this long, me and Thomas, he just made it impossible to leave him. He's so unhealthily dependent on me. I can't even think about leaving him without him threatening to hurt himself. But I can't, Jean. I can't." He puts his head in his hands and sits there for a minute, "I don't think I can act like I love him forever. I can't be with him forever."

I heard everything he said, but my brain only focused on a certain part. "Are you telling me that we could have been friends two fucking years ago?" He nods. "Do you have any idea how _long_ I wished that you would stop pretending that you hate me? Do you have any idea how much I fucking missed you? I had to go through high school without my best friend, Marco, and you did too." I fall back and feel the grassy ground hit my back. Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes, I continue, "Yeah, most of it was my fault, but some of it was yours too. We could've fixed this, Marco. We could've fixed us. We weren't supposed to not be friends for that long. Shit feels wrong without you."

"You aren't the only one who thinks that," he starts, "I got so much shit from our old friends for not talking to you again after they found out I had forgiven you. But Thomas wouldn't let me talk to you. I tried to convince him, I did, but he wouldn't have it. I missed you so much, Jean. I'm sorry I didn't tell him to just deal with it because I needed my best friend back," He takes my hand in his and continues, "But it's too late for us now. I'm sorry. Maybe we can just pretend for tonight that everything didn't go to shit."

He's laying down on the grass next to me by this point. I laugh bitterly and choose to enjoy him holding my hand because I have a sinking feeling that this will be the last time it ever happens. I turn my head towards him, "Do you remember when we were 13, and we had just started dating? Do you remember how simple everything was and how happy we were?" He squeezes my hand, "I miss that. I wish we could go back."

Marco moves closer so that now our sides are touching and our intertwined hands are resting where our hips meet. He smiles and looks at me, "I used to tell you every night that I loved you. I promised to love you forever."

"I can't believe you remember that," I reply, "Too bad promises break."

We stare at each other intently for a while, just taking each other in as if we could make up for the last three years of not looking at each other for more than a couple of seconds at a time. He smiles softly and squeezes my hand again before he replies, "Not that one."


End file.
